


At Your Service

by MyckiMor



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, husband!Frederick, vigilante!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:10:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiMor/pseuds/MyckiMor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moments of vigilante murderer Will Graham and his questionably-sturdy other-half, Dr. Frederick Chilton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

> This is just going to be a bunch of little one-shots, which I will write as the mood strikes. Nothing fancy. No set lengths, either.
> 
> Forgive me the sins I am about to commit with these two.

Three different detergents, two stain-fighting treatments, and half an hour of scrubbing later, the blood still won't come out of Will's shirt. The sight of the dark red blotches still turns his stomach some, from time to time, but he's getting better about it. Looking down at the ruined fabric, Frederick gives somewhat of an exasperated sigh, before putting the shirt in a plastic bag for 'proper disposal'. The routine is becoming, well... _routine,_ to say the least. Soon enough, the store clerks are going to wonder why he has to buy a new wardrobe, every week.

Turning back to the sink, Frederick catches a glance at himself in the mirror. He can't even hope to hide the fact that he is exhausted, work and Will's extra-curriculars tag-teaming to give him a run for his money. Grey hair has begun to creep in along his hairline, and the starts of wrinkles are becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Smiling at his own reflection, faintly, he playfully curses Will, under his breath. The man had been out until dawn, the previous night, and Frederick hadn't slept beyond a light doze that lasted all of twenty minutes or so. Once Will was back in the house, he'd been able to retire, properly, for a full eight hours, but... The hospital had been one of those pesky little things he couldn't manage to ignore for the _entire_ day. A bunch of whiny little sociopaths with the same sob story. How Frederick often longs to let Will loose upon _them._

The thought sends an uncomfortable chill down his spine, causing him to shove it to the back of his mind. Over-stepping his boundaries, that's what he's dangerously close to doing. Instead, he shakes his head, and reaches down to lift a pair of once-tan pants from the small pile of ruined clothing on the floor. The material is stained beyond repair, and he can tell that they are a goner, right off the bat. They join the shirt in the bag, along with a pair of socks, just to be safe.

Tying up the bag, Frederick clicks off the bathroom light, and heads downstairs. Will should be getting home soon, and he'd like to have dinner prepared by then. The younger man surely hasn't eaten, all day. If it weren't for the tired sap currently easing his way down the steps, he'd probably starve. Over-sleep, and lose his job. Get his ass arrested, and subsequently executed.

Here, Frederick smirks. No, he will never allow that to happen. While it's certainly true that he's no killer, himself, there's no denying that Will is _damn lucky_ he knows how to look after one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could easily have turned any lesser a man into a hollow, broken shell, has morphed Will Graham into a force to be reckoned with.

Every now and then, when he has a free afternoon, Frederick likes to drop in on Will's classes. Here, he gets to see the man in true, magnificent form. Since dealing with Hannibal Lecter, Will has really come out of his shell – they both have. For Will, there's been an increased drive for justice, a conviction for teaching the young minds he faces each and every day. His classes are larger, packed into a spacious room with far more seats to fill. He has knowledge to share, and a passion to educate.

Something else that Frederick loves to see, is that the Ripper left behind a quiet, genuine confidence previously non-existent in the other man. What could easily have turned any lesser a man into a hollow, broken shell, has morphed Will Graham into a force to be reckoned with. As Frederick has come to realize, it is every bit as dangerous as it is beautiful.

He takes a seat in the back, listening in on the lecture. Most of the students are listening to their teacher with rapt attention, hanging on his every word. The few who aren't greet him, quietly, respectfully. They all know him, whether through reputation or Will, himself, it doesn't matter. Their relationship isn't something that needs to be hidden from anyone, two men who went to Hell and back, finding something special in one another, along the way.

Will glances up at the disturbance, catching Frederick's eye and smiling. He does much more of that, too, these days. Something else the Ripper case-closing has left behind in Will; a capacity for happiness.

Frederick smiles back, and nods, Will's attention lingering for a moment, before returning to his lecture. An extra power rises in his voice. It doesn't escape Frederick that the fresh intensity hadn't been there when he had first stepped into the room.

 


	3. To All Your Fears - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are moments in time that Frederick often wishes he could freeze-frame. Then, there are moments like this, that Frederick would sell his soul to be able to rewind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble. I'm in write-and-post mode, so, there may yet be more. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, if you ever have a request for this series, feel free to voice it. I'm just having fun with it, so, I'd be happy to peek into whatever corner of their lives might tickle your fancy. :).

There are moments in time that Frederick often wishes he could freeze-frame, in order to extend them for a lifetime or two. An afternoon spent with Will and the dogs, out on the porch, for instance, a warm, summer breeze playing over them. Skype calls with his niece, discussing her job, her boyfriend, and Frederick's own life updates. Curling up on the couch, Will asleep against his chest, his arms around the man's shoulders. The quiet, peaceful non-events that he holds close to his heart, those are the moments he would give anything to extend just a little while longer.

Then, there are other moments, moments like this, that Frederick would sell his damned soul to be able to go back on, and _rewind._

“Excuse me,” he calls to the nurse behind the desk, a tall woman with dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Her back is to him, and, when that doesn't change, Frederick's demeanor shifts. “Damn it, turn around!” he shouts,

The nurse does, indeed, turn around – as do a number of her colleagues, wide eyes focusing on Frederick in alarm. “Can I help you?” the nurse asks, slowly, her voice tight.

Frederick does his best to contain himself. This isn't her fault, after all. “I received a call. I'm looking for Will Graham. Where is he?” There's a pause, where it almost looks as though this nurse – Melinda – debates over whether to cater to his wishes. Soon enough, the woman moves to one of the computers positioned on the desk, fingers clicking away on the keys. Focusing in on the sounds of her typing, Frederick attempts to steady his breathing. Everything in his chest feels as though it is about to rattle through his _skin,_ tension building up deeply within his neck and shoulders.

He knows – has known, for quite some time – that this day was inevitable. One day, Will Graham was bound to come face-to-face with his match. _Again._ He hadn't expect it to be as soon as this, but...

“Doctor Chilton?”

Frederick glances up, in time to see Jack Crawford striding toward him, flanked by a very dramatic-looking Alana Bloom. Oh, yes, of course. Silly him, forgetting that the FBI will be forever up their asses, no matter the situation. Still, he gives a polite nod. “Jack. Hello.” He pays little mind to Dr. Bloom, but, better that, than bite her head clean off. The passably-pleasant disposition lasts for all of about five seconds. “What in the hell happened?” he all but barks at the other man, who, to his credit, doesn't seem phased. “ _When_ did this happen?”

Jack holds up a hand. “Easy, Doctor. We're here to find that out, same as you are.” His eyes dart from Frederick, to the nurse, and back to the psychiatrist. “They haven't said anything?”

“No,” Frederick replies, sullenly. He makes a point to lower his voice, considerably, as well. “I've only just arrived. I was away, at a conference...” It had only been in D.C., but Frederick can't help but to curse himself for leaving Baltimore. Today. _Today,_ of all of the other three hundred sixty-four days on the blessed calendar, someone had chosen to use Will for target practice, _today._ Or, as the target of a science experiment. Either way, the word 'target' sits heavily in Frederick's mind, and, for one brief, horrifying moment, he can't shake the irony of it.

Oh, Christ, if anything has happened to Will... Well, clearly, something _has_ happened, but, if it's-... If he...

 _If he loses Will._ It's a sentence he can't bring himself to complete.

“What is your relationship with the patient?”

The question rights Frederick's mind, as he looks up with a jerk of his head. His answer is an unplanned announcement of, “I'm his husband.” He can _feel_ the unsettling crawl of two sets of eyes burning their way through his skull. He tries to ignore them, long enough to steady his voice. “Dr. Frederick Chilton. My name is on his contact sheet. If you need identification-”

“Husband?” It's Alana, stumbling over the word as though it were some ugly, foreign concept. Really, Frederick would rather that he choke on it, but, another day, perhaps.

Frederick glances back over his shoulder, frowning. “Yes. _Husband._ ” He paused, giving the woman a daring once-over. “Would you care to take issue with that, publicly? Or, can it wait until we're behind closed doors?” The words are cold, challenging, and Alana smartly closes her mouth.

Jack, however, has never been one to let new information slide. “When did this happen?”

The questions are becoming bothersome, irritating. Certainly, no one had been made aware of the latest development, but, they all knew (despite several glorious attempts to ignore) that Frederick and Will had begun a relationship that carried far beyond the realm of the professional. Anything else, it hadn't been necessary to share. It was not their _business._ Frederick spits out, unchecked, “Like most things, Jack, _when you weren't looking._ ”

Jack bristles, but his voice remains calm. “I only mean, you've kept it a secret.” Frederick feels the urge to roll his eyes. “Why is that?”

That's it. The final straw. Frederick slams his hand down against the desk top of the nurses station, laughing, bitterly, as he turns to better face Jack. “Well, we had intended to share the good news. You know, get everyone's thoughts. Have a few heart-to-hearts.” He slips another brief glance at Alana, before looking back to Jack. “And, you know, we'd considered an autumn wedding. Outside, to enjoy the cold air, the dead leaves collected on the ground, and, knowing this city, a couple of human intestines strung through the dead tree branches.” A gasp comes from Alana's direction, which Frederick pointedly ignores. “But, we decided not to wait for the internal organs to bloom, you see. They tend to make guests a little... queasy.”

Damn. He's been spending too much time around Will, again.

“I think we get the point, _Doctor._ ” It's a warning, clear as day, and Frederick _tsks._

“Forgive me,” he replies, no real remorse in his being. “I would just as soon that these questions wait until _after_ I find out what has happened to Will, mm?” Without waiting for an answer, Frederick turns back around, putting on the barest hint of a smile, for the nurse. “I'm sorry. Now, about my husband?”


End file.
